Discipline
by Salome Sensei
Summary: A collection of vignettes centered on the playful, wicked, intimate bond between Sebastian and Ciel. Adults only.
1. Dinner Discipline

Author's Note: My first **Kuroshitsuji** fic. For Talon-sama.

Warnings: Necessary shouta.

Dinner Discipline

"Young Master, your staff has labored long and with unusual efficiency through my strong guidance to offer you this special meal in your private garden, and yet you have not touched a bite. You remain unmoved by the costly meat that Bardroy did not burn, the gold-leaf china that Maylene brought and placed without dropping, Finnian's work on the lavish flora of the garden and in the vase upon the table, the tea that Tanaka chose, and even the chocolate torte I prepared and served with this sumptuous dinner. Why is it that nothing can tempt you this evening, Young Master?"

"Stop talking so much, Sebastian. I'm just not hungry, that's all." He pushes the food around in his plate a bit but can't bring himself to put it in his mouth.

Sebastian frowns. "This is the second day you have eaten next to nothing, Young Master. I cannot continue to allow this and fulfill my duties properly." He reaches out and takes Ciel into his arms, then slips beneath him to put the boy in his lap.

"What are you doing! Let me go!" Ciel commands in a high, sharp tone.

Sebastian responds with a calm smile and an arm close around his waist. "Come, eat," he says evenly, raising a forkful of the tender beefsteak to Ciel's lips.

Ciel pouts, refuses to open his mouth, struggles in Sebastian's tight grasp.

Sebastian does not move. "Must I use sterner measures, Young Master?"

Ciel shakes his head the tiniest bit. He licks his lips. Why is it he is suddenly hungry…only when Sebastian holds and offers to feed him? He's not a baby. He won't put up with such treatment!

"Very well," Sebastian purrs, able and willing to read the boy's mind but not needing to at such a moment. He puts the fork down, pushes the chair back from the table, and flips Ciel neatly over his lap in one smooth movement.

Ciel gasps at the speed and use of his body. "No," he commands, but his command goes unheeded.

Sebastian reaches beneath to unfasten his master's trousers, smiling at Ciel's passivity. He does not attempt to rise. Once he has pulled down the short pants and exposed his pretty little pale bottom, Sebastian pats it once gently, then removes one glove with his teeth, drops it beside them, and apologizes for what he is about to do: "Young Master must not be allowed to let his health suffer. He has vengeance to bring, and I cannot allow anything to intervene, especially pointless stubbornness."

"Sebastian," Ciel whines.

The pleading sound is sweet to Sebastian's ears as he raises his hand to strike. "Count," he commands. A swift smooth swipe that ends in a bright, high sound and a delicious tingling in his fingers. This form suits such pleasures so well.

"One," whimpers Ciel.

He raises his arm again and brings it down harder.

"Two," the young master cries.

Three, four, five, then six through eleven pass swiftly and pleasantly for Sebastian and loudly and with increasing tears for Ciel. As he lifts to strike a twelfth time, he commands, "In French now, Young Master," his voice calm and even. No reason not to use this opportunity for more than one type of educational practice.

At twenty, Ciel has been reduced to a tearful, red-faced creature of self-pity, and Sebastian cannot resist turning him back over and into his arms. He cradles and coos to him, wiping his wet eyelids gently with the hand that still bears its clean white glove and kissing his lips softly.

"That wasn't fair," the sniffling child whines, though he does not pull away as Sebastian pulls up his pants and fastens them again, then rises and replaces Ciel alone in his chair.

"No, Young Master," Sebastian concurs.

Ciel fidgets, pouting. "Now the chair is uncomfortable to sit in, Sebastian."

The demon nods solemnly. "Yes, Young Master. Allow me to fetch a pillow." He turns to go.

"No," snaps Ciel.

Sebastian pivots, all attentiveness and solicitude.

"Stay…and feed me."

Sebastian lowers momentarily to a knee. "Yes, My Lord."


	2. Bathing Discipline, Part I

Author's Note: Fulfilling a request by Talonsage. Very tame: MA will come in Part II.

ETA: Thanks to petitcuppycake for catching the typo of "sweat creme crepes" for "sweet"! I love it as a typo, but have fixed it to be slightly more subtle. Ha.

Bathing Discipline

One of the most personally enjoyable tasks Sebastian had set himself as Ciel Phantomhive's butler was creating the perfect bathing room. The practice of setting a cast-iron tub before the fire in the bedroom was not one he could endure. No, Ciel must have far better. And so, with Tanaka's support and Finnian's assistance (and at least a valiant effort not to make matters worse by Maylene and Bardroy), he transformed the smaller bedroom beside Ciel's into a state-of-the-art bathing masterpiece.

Ornamental moldings graced the ceiling; a magnificent oriental rug covered much of the polished wooden floor; stained glass window panels brought in warm light and enhanced privacy without the burden of heavy draperies. The tub was a beautifully hand-painted cast iron masterpiece that Sebastian designed and decorated himself, suited to Ciel's dark, ornate tastes. Supplies of floral petals, fragrant oils, and light-scented soaps lined decorative shelves along with plush towels. A single, long-framed mirror completed the room.

Of course, Sebastian did not allow his fondness for this project to overshadow the tiniest jot of his other duties. Never would Ciel find need to remind him of some task uncompleted or a meal served late—not if Sebastian could help it. There was more pleasure in tending to Ciel's every need and creature comfort than any other duty he could remember in his long existence. Ensuring his safety and enabling him to achieve the vengeance he sought was his primary objective. But, as time past in the company of the beautiful, sullen and demanding child, the demon's satisfaction grew, in degree and variety. His role suited his energies well; Ciel's dark, demanding nature suited his hungers even better. Perfection was ensured.

The first bath became a source of pride and pleasure for Sebastian's fertile, underused imagination. Introducing Ciel to the room would happen only when every detail was perfect. The tub would be filled with steaming water carried by Finnian and Bardroy with not a drop spilled on the rug. Its surface would be dotted with rose petals and scented with rich almonds and exotic vanilla. The room itself would be lit by candles and warmed by a small, crackling fire whose light would dance upon the multi-colored window panels, with their images of full-blown irises, proud peacocks, and the Phantomhive family crest.

"Why will you not tell me what you are planning in the room beside mine?" Ciel whined one morning at breakfast, stabbing petulantly into his marmalade and sweet cream crepes.

Sebastian smiled. The child could so easily demand to look for himself, could command his obedient butler to tell him, or wheedle it out of the easily duped Maylene or tender-hearted Finnian. But he did not. "It is a surprise, young master," Sebastian replied with a small bow.

Ciel's face contorted with a mockery of displeasure. "When will it be ready?"

Sebastian's smile stretched from his wide mouth into the sparkle of his crimson eyes. He could practically smell Ciel's excitement, and this aroused him in turn. Who other than Sebastian could promise the young Phantomhive heir a surprise that there was so little chance of disappointing him? "Soon," he said, with calm repose, despite his enthusiasm.

"See that it is," Ciel huffed, holding out his tea cup for more of the strong Ceylon Sebastian had chosen to complement the rich sweetness of the meal.

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian replied, pouring.


	3. Bathing Discipline, Part II

Author's Note: Originally written for the citrus_taste prompt "He always smiles." Yum. I love when Sebastian smiles. And he gets to smile a lot in this chapter.

Warnings: Necessary shoutaliciousness (aka Ciel's boybits are shown and touched in this chapter). Be of legal age if you're reading this.

Bathing Discipline, Part II

Closing the door behind his young master to keep the fragrant warmth within, Sebastian took a few steps into the chambers to display it, and himself, to best advantage. As Victorian decorum demanded, he refrained from holding out his arms in prideful display of his masterpiece. Instead, he put a hand to his chest and bowed with as much humility as his temperament permitted. He used the mirror opposite to glance at Ciel's reaction in its reflection, and his mouth stretched into a full, satisfied grin as the one, wide, unpatched eye grew even wider at the display.

The bathing room was as perfect as Sebastian's ample, enthusiastic skills and demonic abilities could render it, an artistic and functional masterpiece that existed nowhere else in England. It might, perhaps, be outdone by the bath of some Roman Emperor or legendary Sultan, but he was confident he had provided his young master with a chamber quite unique among his contemporaries and would soon offer him a bathing experience unmatched in inimitable distinction at his devoted and agile hands.

That Ciel Phantomhive's first words once he could find them within the steamy, aromatic paradise were "I did not command a bathing chamber" made Sebastain's eyes sparkle with delight as he deepened his bow. That his next utterance—accompanied with the gesture of raising his slender arms from his sides—was "Undress me" offered even greater gratification to his eager butler, who responded in graceful haste. "Yes, my Lord," said he, rising and stepping forward.

Sebastian had already had the ritual pleasure of disrobing the child, removing the day's ornate, fashionable garments and neatly reclothing him in pristine white nightshirt. Doing up the numerous tiny pearl buttons and laying the lace at the neck and wrists just so brought a little thrill from Sebastian's fingertips right up through his entire body, for so fashioned was the human form with its strange nervous system that enchanted the demon more than he thought possible. And now? A repetition in reverse, usually reserved for the mornings but now to be done in the candlelit glow of the bathing room, with multi-hued reflections from the magnificent hand-wrought stained glass panels gently decorating the young master's precious body.

Sebastian brought his long-fingered hands to their task with relish, indulging himself in the slightest of indiscretions befitting this new, unfamiliar space. Reverently, he unbuttoned each tiny button, moving more slowly than need be. Ciel was still and silent. Sebastian let his fingertips brush the flesh of his ribcage as he lifted the nightshirt over his head, eliciting a shiver despite the warmth of the room, but no words of protest. He tipped up the round little face delicately then reached around to remove the eyepatch, rather than untying it from behind. Ciel's mouth opened to protest the unnecessary intimacy, but then closed. Sebastian could feel his momentary submission and drank it in like finest wine. Such submission would not last, nor would he wish it to. But the bathing chambers, with its rich glow, dark floral scent, and ornate beauty induced an awed silence in them both, and provided the young Phantomhive with a brief, alien respite from the burdens of living.

The crimson-eyed demon did not fool himself into thinking his master would not resent the near hypnotic state he had induced, but nor did he delude his nimble mind into believing, for one moment, that Ciel did not want and need this little escape. As the naked boy watched, Sebastian removed his gloves and jacket and tidily rolled up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt. He bent forward and took the proud boy into his arms, cradling and carrying him to the large, beautiful tub, filled with rose petals and water he knew to be of perfect temperature (and would make so with powers he need not mention to Ciel at this delicate time if it were in the least displeasing). Had the child uttered some biting quip about how Sebastian's hand touched his bottom or stroked his thigh, the butler would not have been surprised, but there was no word to break the stillness.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered his precious charge into the warm wetness, observing a few pale petals that clung lovingly to his flesh, then remarking in his eyes a hint of trepidation. Why should a bath be fearful to his brave child-master, one who had seen so much of death and destruction in his meager years? Ciel was bathed more regularly than he wished, more frequently than those of this era and culture enjoyed, and he had always done so without worry—though, like many a child, he complained often and loudly of being made to do something he did not always wish to do. There was, perhaps, something of surrender in the ritual they enacted together this night, something that hinted of a future in which Ciel would yield his soul, as he must, to the demon with whom he had made contract. But even a touch of fear was too much for Sebastian to allow the valiant child to endure if he could do otherwise.

"Is the water warm enough, young master?" Sebastian said softly, releasing his hold and coming to his knees before the tub. His demeanor was all attentiveness, his voice soothing.

Ciel held to the sides of the tub and brought his gaze to Sebastian's. "It will do," he said, sitting upright and beginning to gaze around the room.

Speaking as the true master he was to Sebastian had called the child to himself. Good. Now Sebastian could dare more. "Allow me to bathe you, young master," Sebastian offered, reaching over to grasp the bar of almond-oil soap Ciel favored. The butler often assisted in such matters as the rinsing of Ciel's hair and holding out a hand to escort him from the tub. But the boy insisted upon washing himself. He would demand he was not a helpless infant, but Sebastian also noted well his dislike of being touched. Quite understandable, given his circumstances. Humans needed touch, however; Sebastian knew this from ample observation over a long existence. And Ciel did permit it, in certain ways. He even relished it, when it came to such matters as dressing him or protecting his body from one who would do him harm. And there was the occasional spanking, of course, though that was of another order.

Permitting Sebastian to wash him was new. Forbidden or at least unexplored. But the bath chamber was a haven, a place for the heretofore prohibited to be permitted, especially when all the boy had to do was offer an imperceptible nod before Sebastian went to work.

"This soap comes from a new manufacturer, young master," Sebastian said, voice even and calm, to ease any tension as he brought his lathered hands to Ciel's shoulders and gently rubbed them clean. "I found its foam smoother and more ample than the product we have been using." He reached lower, taking Ciel's hand into his own and caressing up and around the lean little arm, covering it with suds and then lowering it back into the water. Cupping his hands, he rinsed it well and then brought himself to the other side of the tub to wash his other arm.

Ciel remained largely motionless, except to allow himself to be manipulated. Whether he was tranquil or ill-at-ease, Sebastian was not entirely sure. But such uncertainty roused and engaged the demon, who welcomed unpredictability as the novel treat it was. "Should you prefer this soap to the other, I am certain the small company could easily be brought into the holdings of the Phantomhive empire." Ciel bit his lip and let his eyes drift closed as Sebastian lathered his small torso, paying particular attention to his sensitive underarms.

The small circles he drew around the boy's nipples, however, were more than the child could endure without comment, and he balled his little hands into fists and gave the single-word command, "Sebastian." The butler inclined his head with a smile and turned to the more innocuous work of scrubbing his back.

"I do like this soap," Ciel conceded as his hair was soaped carefully with one hand while Sebastian held a small towel before his master's eyes to protect them. Sebastian gave a small smile and nod that the boy could not see and tipped his head back to rinse.

Once he had swept the wet black mass carefully back and smoothed it down with the little cloth to ensure he would not trail unwanted drips of water into Ciel's face, the boy spoke again: "Have we finished?" he asked with quiet firmness, and Sebastian could not help but enjoy all that was unsaid.

"Almost," the dutiful butler pronounced as he brought his hands deep into the water to spread his pale thighs. Ciel's gasp thrilled him to the core as he carefully pressed them further apart to wash his legs and belly, dallying with increasing nearness to his tiny genitals.

"Sebastian," protested Ciel, but in vain and without conviction as Sebastian took hold of his little cock and stroked it softly in the warm, sweet-scented bathwater. His other hand dipped further down, amply lathered, to press a finger into the little hole between the perfect cheeks of his young master. Ciel moaned involuntarily and looked down at Sebastian's hands. It aroused Sebastian deeply to have this reminder of his master's superiority: how many others would have closed their eyes and denied what was happening even as it happened? But not Ciel Phantomhive. He watched as Sebastian stroked the diminutive shaft, pulling back the slender foreskin and exposing the minute head. He gazed as his dedicated butler pressed his finger in deeper, reaching a spot of pleasure that brought a sweet, high whine from his throat. And at last he brought his eyes to Sebastian's as those dedicated fingers at last brought him to a climax that decorated the tub with a slender ribbon of nearly clear ejaculate and left Ciel slack-jawed, panting and needing. Sebastian could do no less than satisfy that need, and brought his mouth to Ciel's, kissing him sweetly and deeply, savoring this sample of what would one day be a more perfect and permanent embrace.

With characteristic determination, Ciel quickly regained his composure and broke the kiss then rose, demanding Sebastian bring him a towel and dry him. Sebastian nodded and obeyed instantly. As he rubbed the flushed, petite body firmly, he asked in an even, dispassionate voice, "Does the bath chamber please my young master?"

"It is too colorful," Ciel Phantomhive replied, "but it will suffice." He pursed his lips in thought. "I would like warm milk before I sleep," he added.

"Yes, my Lord," answered Sebastian with a smile.


	4. Dreaming Discipline

**Author's Note:** I briefly researched the history of donuts, wedding anniversaries, and squab recipes for this fic. Couldn't resist the canon appeal of the dream.

**Warning:** Necessary shoutaliciousness, but only a smidgen.

Dreaming Discipline

Sleep was upon the Phantomhive estate, heavy and warm, a blanket of stillness like a death shroud. The crimson-eyed demon, standing on the roof and watching the moon's path through the night sky, could easily slip into his true form and taste the darkness more fully, feel the weight of sleep on the mortals around him more purely. Yet that would rob him of the pleasure of experiencing the estate at rest as Sebastian Michaelis, and he would not willingly forsake a moment of it.

In truth, Sebastian enjoyed the night best for its delicious illusion: external tranquility that thinly veiled the life of the human mind stirring fitfully beneath. Like the plain crust of a fried doughnut that gushed with cherry jam when you bit into it, the sleeping brain was a hidden treasure. In short, he was fascinated by dreams. With the lightest touch of his consciousness, he dipped beneath the surface to find Bardroy unconsciously imagining he was a sort of shepherd or cowboy of the American West, driving fully cooked roasts into corrals as they bounced along, while he ladled them with their juices. Maylene, by contrast, was polishing a piece of silver that kept reforming as she worked. A tureen became a candelabrum and the candelabrum became a tea tray, but nothing daunted her as she shined and buffed with eager assuredness. Tanaka was swimming against the current in a river of ornate keys, and Finnian was chasing rabbits, attempting to affix barrettes in their fur. Sebastian grinned to himself at the seamless blend of trivia and meaning that flowed through these sleeping psyches.

Ciel's, of course, was the mind that concerned and pleased him most. When awake, the boy was constantly thinking, wits awhirl with schemes and counterschemes, resentments and fears, hopes and resistance to having hopes. His pridefulness ran deep, and thus Sebastian could plumb his mind and never grow bored of its workings. As the perfect butler, it also gave him enormous satisfaction to ease those furious machinations, those unceasing deliberations. Were he other than demon—the boy's mortal guardian, for instance—he would have been troubled to know how difficult it was for Ciel to allow himself any semblance of true rest, of peace, or of pleasure. As it was, however, he could observe and feast without emotional burden, and thus he could actually do the child some good.

This eve, he had put his young master to bed later than usual. Ciel had been restless, eating little of the squab with lemon, grapes and endive on its bed of rice with rosemary. And he had tasted the orange pecan-crusted cake only when Sebastian had fed it to him by hand at bedside. He extended such effort because Tanaka had informed him that the day commemorated his deceased parents' wedding anniversary. In previous years the day had been celebrated with a grand ball.

Once the ritual of changing Ciel for bed and washing his soft, cherub's face had been completed, his master had requested Sebastian linger, read to him. It was an unexpected addition to their usual custom, and brought Sebastian a moment of displeasure, for he did not enjoy signs of weakness in his determined little master. Still, when the tome Ciel brought forth was Dante's _Inferno_, the demon was reassured and began reading after a humble bow and the drawing of a chair beside the Phantomhive heir's massive bed. Ciel nodded and Sebastian began, opening the volume with reverent, gloved hands to the second Canto, _Purgatorio_, as the child requested:

_Per me si va ne la città dolente,  
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,  
per me si va tra la perduta gente.  
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:  
fecemi la divina podestate,  
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.  
Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create  
se non etterne, e io etterno duro.  
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._

Ciel closed his eyes as he listened, clearly soothed by the cadence of the Italian that Sebastian pronounced flawlessly. With a smile, the perfect butler then translated, for himself as much as his master: "Through me is the way into the woeful city; through me is the way into eternal woe; through me is the way among the lost people. Justice moved my lofty maker: the divine Power, the supreme Wisdom and the primal Love made me. Before me were no things created, unless eternal, and I eternal last. Leave every hope, ye who enter."

After this short recitation, Ciel seemed satisfied, though he was plainly not sleepy. "Go now," he commanded.

Sebastian rose smoothly and instantly, closing the book and replacing it on the small bedside table, then carefully putting the chair back from where he had taken it. "Sleep well, young master," he said softly, hand to his chest as he bowed his way out.

In time, the child had indeed fallen asleep, and Sebastian delayed his satisfaction by touching all other minds in the household before Ciel's. Finally, down from the rooftop he swooped, coming to rest on the window ledge outside the boy's chambers. Silently, he made his way inside and to the foot of Ciel's bed. Though it would be easy to read his dreams from any location—on this plane of existence or any other to which he had access—he preferred this closeness. He watched the little chest rise and fall, smelled the sweet breath of mortality as he exhaled. The eyelids fluttered quickly in sleep. Sebastian leaned in, basking in the precious aura of his dream.

Ciel was himself and yet not; elegantly dressed, taller and more graceful than in waking reality. His arms were outstretched to wrap around a lithe, slender, black-suited partner in a lively waltz. He pressed his face into his partner's chest so no visage could be seen, but Sebastian guessed it was he himself with whom the dream Ciel danced. They waltzed on and on, the child's arms holding the woman's dance position as he was led, deftly and surely, by the male. As the music picked up speed, Ciel was pressing his body more closely to his partner's, arms clutching, hips attempting to grind. Sebastian smiled as he observed, eyes alight as he felt the boy's sexual arousal grow within the dream and tension appear in the writhing of his sleeping body. His cock grew hard and the dance prevented him from effectively rubbing it against his partner's, though the partner was rigid as well. He tipped up his face and Sebastian at last glimpsed the red eyes that looked down upon the dream child within his unconscious mind. The mood grew frantic, the music discordant, and Ciel whimpered through his sleep until he woke with a start, springing upright in his bed. "Sebastian," he cried.

"I am here," the demon responded, voice calm and even.

"I had a nightmare," announced Ciel, seemingly unsurprised to find his butler before him.

Sebastian bowed his head in acknowledgement. "How may I ease your distress, young master?"

Ciel blushed and pulled back the covers, though he kept his gaze steady. "Comfort me."

"Yes, my Lord," replied Sebastian.


	5. Equestrian Discipline

**Author's Note: **Written to fulfill a Trick or Treat challenge for LJ friend **saraste-impi**, who requested "Sebastian as top-from-bottom-uke." I think this may fail to fulfill her request properly, for both Sebastian and Ciel are too arrogant to ever truly be uke as I read them, but Ciel does manage to make Sebastian bottom to him…at least for a few precious moments. **T**-rated for a smidgen of innuendo. (I enjoyed working reference to Agni in here as well; he is spicy hawtness.)

Equestrian Discipline

"You heard me, Sebastian. I want to play horsey. Now get on your knees," demanded Ciel Phantomhive with petulant authority, pointing a finger at the floor.

Sebastian's grin did not falter as he grasped easily the meaning of the little game his young master was beginning. Tea had not been satisfactory, with Ciel complaining of distaste for the strong black Indian tea as well as the Samosas. The savory pastries, stuffed with curried potatoes and peas, were not "proper" tea fare, cried Ciel, however much in fashion they may be in "primitive" countries. Sebastian knew quite well that they would not suit Ciel's palate, but it gave him pleasure to make them from the recipe Agni had provided. They smelled complex and rich, like Agni himself. And, of course, it was bringing Agni to mind which no doubt most distressed his young master. Jealousy flared from his bright blue eye and Sebastian devoured it hungrily.

Now he would pay for his playful insolence, it seemed. Sebastian nodded and came gracefully to his hands and knees. Ciel smiled down upon him, patting his head. "That's better," gloated the little lordling, trotting off to the corner of the room to retrieve an ornate English saddle Sebastian had not known the boy had hidden earlier beneath a cloth-covered side table. Ciel carried the bulky object with some difficulty and dropped it roughly onto Sebastian's back. Sebastian did not flinch at the weight or awkwardness. Nor did he react in the slightest when the boy licked his lips with delight as he fitted an unseen bit into Sebastian's mouth.

Once he had climbed aboard his butler-cum-steed, he fitted his feet into stirrups that were so low that they reached the floor and kicked up and back toward Sebastian's hips. One might have pondered whether he was actually aiming for the demon's groin, but the size and shape of the saddle and its long stirrups prohibited any actual contact, so Sebastian set off, walking with careful grace around the large study as his master directed with the reins. "Good boy," Ciel said affectionately, embodying the perfect young noble on his prized mount.

After a few rounds, however, Sebastian suddenly stopped in the middle of the room. Ciel kicked his heels, shook the reins, and demanded he "walk on," but the butler did not move. Nor did he speak. "Sebastian!" whined Ciel. "I said, 'walk on'!" Sebastian tossed his head, snorted, and "pawed" the rug, every bit the temperamental stallion. Ciel ground his teeth and bounced in the saddle. "That's not fair," he grumbled, and slapped Sebastian's shoulders as hard as he could with the reins.

Sebastian reacted instantly to the sharp little pain, rearing and tipping Ciel neatly from his back and onto the floor behind him. Tossing the saddle aside, he quickly came to the child's feet and offered a humble apology. "Forgive me, young master. Perhaps I play the part a bit too well for your tastes?"

Ciel narrowed his gaze and pointed his finger from a sprawled position. "I ought to have you sleep in the stable tonight."

"Indeed," replied Sebastian calmly. "So you ought. But then, who would tuck you into bed and keep the bad dreams away?" He smiled warmly.

"Help me up," muttered Ciel, "then make me a proper tea."

His pout was so precious that it took all of Sebastian's strength not to lean in and bite that juicy bottom lip. But that would not be appropriate for butler or horse. "Yes, my Lord," replied Sebastian, and extended a hand to do as he was bid.


	6. Morning Discipline

Author's Note: Just a little 100-word tease for the new year. Posted to LJ community **Fandomwords100** and **Citrus_taste**.

Morning Discipline

"Young master, you must rise. The duke will be here soon and you need to change into proper attire to greet him." Sebastian attempted to pull back the heavy blankets at Ciel's chin.

"I won't," Ciel proclaimed with a pout, gripping the covers tightly in his little fists.

"I do not understand, young master," Sebastian continued calmly. "Do you have distaste for the duke that I should know of?"

Ciel shook his tousled head.

"Then, why?"

Ciel pressed his lips together.

"Please, young master," cooed Sebastian. "Tell me."

"You didn't give me my good morning kiss!" spat Ciel at last.


	7. Solitary Discipline

Author's Note: A tasty tidbit for the opening of new LJ Comm **Fanfic-bakeoff** (300 words maximum per ficlet) with a prompt of "Catch." Sebastian does love to catch the young master unawares...

Warnings: Almost shouta. (Can Sebastian/Ciel be anything less?)

Solitary Discipline

Candelabra held high in a graceful, gloved hand, Sebastian made his way down the long, darkened hallway. A nightly ritual, he liked to stroll the silent passages of the Phantomhive estate when the moon was at its zenith, ensuring all were safe in their beds, that no menace prowled the corridors unnoted. With the senses of a demon even while in the form of a mortal, he need not make the effort of actually walking the halls. He could sense danger from his own chambers or even from beyond the estate. And yet, he found the ritual soothing, pleasant -- as were so many of the tasks he performed for his young master, both commanded and self-imposed. He was determined to be the perfect servant at all times.

Having already passed the chambers where snored the tempestuous Bardroy, where dreamed the high-strung Maylene, where curled the excitable Finnie, and where quietly lay the faithful Tanaka, the elegant butler turned down his young master's wing. He already knew that Ciel was quite safe, but safety was not his only reason for checking on him at night. His keen ears picked up the labored breathing that to less sensitive organs might merely be the sound of a child in the dream state. Was he playing out anxieties through monstrous fantasies, reliving trauma, unconsciously pondering the future? No, none of these, for Sebastian knew before he even turned the handle that his marked charge was not asleep. He entered silently to glimpse tight-shut eyes, panting mouth, and a little hand moving rapidly beneath thick, tented coverlets. He cleared his throat and watched Ciel jump, eyes startling open as he squeaked in surprise.

"Forgive me, young master," said Sebastian, mouth spreading into a wide, playful smile. "I thought perhaps you might require some assistance."


	8. Masterly Discipline, Part I

Author's Note: This little tale of unexpected mastery is a gift for **moon_maiden **who requested a "doggy style" SebaCiel fic. It takes place just after the first volume of the manga, finally out in English in the states so I can hold it in my hot little hands.

Warning: Shouta-rific. Seriously. Adults only, and as we all know, Ciel is portrayed in all of my fic by a 23-year-old graduate student who needs the money and just looks exceedingly young for his age.

Masterly Discipline, Part I

"But you enjoyed seeing me tied up, didn't you," pouted Ciel Phantomhive as he kicked out at the black-clad butler at his feet.

The demon who currently identified himself as Sebastian Michaelis held his kneeling pose and paused in his task of pulling soft white woolen socks up the child's just-bathed legs. It had been a week since the incident, and yet clearly Ciel was still displeased. Sebastian withstood his petulance with a patient and some might even say contented smile. "I enjoy all facets of serving my young master," he replied, red eyes flickering up to take in the boy's extended bottom lip, which stuck out so far and so ripely that an individual with inappropriate thoughts (say a long-lived, dirty-minded demon) might have had to fight (momentarily) the urge to reach out and take a big juicy bite. But such an urge would be easily overcome for one as dedicated as Sebastian. The consummate butler could not give in to every whim and fancy, no matter how delightful. Deferral and anticipation were pleasures of their own, after all, as was provocation, so long as it did not go too far. And the young Earl of Phantomhive was so delightful, so delicious to provoke.

Ciel kicked again but was again unsuccessful in shifting Sebastian from his upright posture. He huffed in displeasure and folded his arms tightly across his little chest as Sebastian quietly resumed his duties. "You're supposed to do whatever I command."

"Yes, young master." Soft little sock slid up soft slender flesh.

"And not let me get tied up and beat up." The lip protruded again.

"Just as you say, young master." Why disagree? His job was to protect and do his master's bidding, and so he did, with ardor and panache. But there were many paths to every outcome, and there was not even a trace of the bruises and scratches Ciel has sustained. All was well.

With his nightshirt on and his feet and calves now covered against the cold, Sebastian rose and bowed. "I am your devoted servant," he said, simply and honestly.

Ciel wriggled his toes. Even with the thick socks on, he knew the hard wood floors would be cold. "Carry me to bed," he ordered.

Sebastian grinned beneath lowered eyes. "It would be my pleasure, young master."

Ciel huffed again. "No pleasure, just carry me."

"Of course," he said, bowing again, then bent to scoop the pale and beautiful child into his arms with tender care. He cradled him easily, like a child. It was only a few strides to his master's bed, and he paused before setting him down on its thick white coverlets.

"Well?" snapped Ciel.

"Yes, young master?" Sebastian was patience and attentiveness personified.

"Aren't you going to put me down?"

"If that is your command," the demon purred.

Ciel reached a small hand from within Sebastian's embrace and struck him across the face. "Put me down," he snarled.

His high, child's voice, sent a shiver of delight up Sebastian's spine as he hastened to obey. He quietly and quickly settled the boy underneath the thick blankets and crisp white sheets, Ciel sulking all the while.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, young master?" Sebastian queried, reaching for the candelabra that cast long, beautiful shadows on the wall as the small blaze in the fireplace crackled and offered its own warm glow opposite. He reached to remove the patch over Ciel's covered eye.

Ciel slapped his hand away. "Why don't you do things right? The way I want them done?"

Sebastian was abashed. He might indulge himself, but he was more devoted to his young charge than to anything or anyone he had yet encountered in his long, eventful life. He felt Ciel's heart race as if it were within his own chest. He must, as Ciel said, do things right. He set the candles down and quickly knelt at the side of the bed. "Young master," he said, voice hushed. He was beyond apology. "It is my single goal to fulfill your every need, to assist you in all ways possible, large and small, to help you achieve your every goal, to—"

Ciel interrupted with a loud, dismissive sound, sitting abruptly upright and looking down upon his vassal. A child he might be, but he was no ordinary child. He was the Earl of Phantomhive, and he sensed the shift in Sebastian's demeanor with a swiftness only the noble-born heir of nobility could. "Sebastian."

"Yes, young master." Sebastian raised his head, eyes glowing red as he instinctively obeyed the suddenly potent authority in Ciel's voice.

Ciel climbed from the covers and scooted to the edge of the bed, socked feet dangling over its edge. "You are mine to command."

"Yes, young master," Sebastian repeated, a quickening in his loins making him tingle.

Ciel raised his chin and straightened his posture. "You will obey me in all things." His body quivered with the pleasure of his power over the lanky, arrogant demon before him.

"I will, young master."

Ciel smiled at the fact that his butler was no longer smiling. "Remove your clothing, Sebastian."

Sebastian did not hesitate. Silently and solemnly he rose and neatly disrobed in the flickering firelight. He knew Ciel watched his every move, and he basked in the child's attention without a hint of his former playfulness. Let the Earl of Phantomhive never have cause to accuse him of failure to handle a command properly. Not ever.

"Now get on your hands and knees." Ciel jumped down from the bed and lifted his nightshirt. He held his small hardness in his hand. "I'll show you who is master," he said, doing all he could to sound like the man he longed to be, the man Sebastian could truly respect.

Sebastian obeyed, and only the tiniest hint of a smile decorated his beautiful face as he assumed the position and awaited the unexpected demands of Ciel Phantomhive. "Yes, my Lord."


	9. Masterly Discipline, Part II

Warning: Graphically shoutalicious. Don't read if you're not old enough and ready for graphic depictions.

Masterly Discipline, Part II

Sebastian held his position, naked on his hands and knees on the cold floor of Ciel's bedchambers. The room was silent but for the crackle and hiss of little blaze in the fireplace. The obedient butler could hold this pose as long as his master wished, and even relished the discomfort as a gift to the determined little earl. Ciel Phantomhive was making his existence in this guise a greater pleasure than he had imagined when summoned. The consummate Victorian butler must be prepared for any contingency, and he was learning quickly that, together, he and his young master had the potential for a broad and delightful array of life's bounty.

To the fire's sputtering chorus, Sebastian began to hear added tiny grunts of Ciel. He had been commanded to be still, and so he was, but his curiosity was growing. And he did love to feed his curiosity. Ciel had threatened—or promised—to show him "who is master," and he relished the promised delights. Could the boy actually follow through? Temperament, surely, would spur him enough to take whip or cane to Sebastian's slender backside. The thought of it was a terrible thrill. On the one hand, the perfect butler should never have to be beaten. On the other, the whack of the cane across his ass would be quite a new sensation indeed. He could not remember the last time in his long existence he had allowed himself to be placed in a position of such vulnerability. Skirmishes and conflicts, yes. Battles even. But kneeling for a beating? No, that was new. Deliciously new.

And yet no beating came. In fact, he had seen Ciel's true intent clearly as he stripped: fisted in his little hand was his alabaster prize. As perfect and precious in its tiny stiffness as every other feature of his young master. Sebastian's crimson eyes flashed at the tasty little glimpse of it, and he marveled that the earl actually ventured to threaten him with it. "Who is master" indeed. This must, of course, be what the grunting was about. His child's body could not rise to the glory of his masterly disposition. Poor creature. Perhaps the perfect butler should assist.

Ciel squeezed and pumped his little shaft, commanding it with fist and mind to obey. He was going to do what he'd read in that naughty book he kept beneath his mattress that even Sebastian didn't know about. Just as Sir Dudley had initiated his squire and been obeyed the better for it, so Sebastian would be initiated, and respect him more hereafter. He frowned, bit his bottom lip. If only he could get his "proud, marbled sword" (which was really more like a lady's dagger) ready to "sheathe." It had been so easy for Sir Dudley, despite all the armor.

"May I assist, young master?" came Sebastian's low, velveteen voice.

Ciel startled, and his lady's dagger became a milk-soaked ladyfinger. "Sebastian! You've ruined everything!" he pouted, looking at the pitiful appendage resting in his palm. He released it and let his nightshirt drop the final curtain over his aborted performance. Looking up sullenly, he caught the wicked gleam in Sebastian's eye. "I should let you stay there, just like that, all night."

"As you wish, young master," replied Sebastian, grin widening. He noted that his own erection seemed to have grown as Ciel's shrank. This mortal form was such a delight.

"You're no fun to punish at all," Ciel concluded, turning to climb back into bed.

Sebastian was upon him in an instant, silent and warm, hand hiking the soft, white linen over Ciel's backside almost before he even knew it. As Ciel squeaked a futile protest, Sebastian pressed him onto his belly, hiked his little hips up over the bed, and stretched and pinned his arms overhead. "Allow me to demonstrate how it's done, young master, for future reference."

"Sebastian!" gasped Ciel. He could feel Sebastian's burning eyes caressing every inch of his body. He shuddered and struggled to free his hands.

"After all," continued Sebastian calmly, as if this were just another lesson in dancing, "it would not do to leave you uneducated in proper form." He kept his sweet, pale prey pressed to the bed as he leaned in and slipped a finger into Ciel's mouth. "It will hurt less if you assist me in lubricating the way, young master."

Ciel bit Sebastian's finger, hard. It brought only a chuckle. "Horrible monster," Ciel whined, then suckled when the digit was offered again.

"That's it, nice and wet," the deceptively gentle voice praised, then withdrew it and pressed it to the precious little pucker that Sebastian himself had washed very, very clean earlier that day. Cleanliness, he opined, was what separated the true nobleman from the commoner.

Though Ciel hated the obscene thoroughness of Sebastian's bathing rituals, he also secretly enjoyed them in ways not entirely dissimilar to his pleasure in the tales of Sir Dudley, and not entirely unlike his trembling anticipation of what that finger—now circling and rubbing him purposefully—was about to do. "Sebastian," he begged, cheeks reddening and eyes filling with tears that were nothing like crying.

"Yes, my Lord," murmured the perfect butler, and pressed inside.

Words were no longer possible for Ciel, though he was by no means silent as Sebastian carefully, lovingly worked him open and filled him with first one finger and then, after proffering additional saliva in a way that only a crass peasant would call spitting, two. Once inside and able to enter and withdraw smoothly, Sebastian covered the little body with his own and pressed his hips rhythmically to simulate a mounting the child was by no means ready for.

Ciel moaned and sobbed in a way most pleasing to both butler and master, arousing each according to his particular station. Sebastian released Ciel's hands and was delighted to find he did not seek to move them from their overhead position. He slipped it neatly beneath his young master's hips and found him hard and quite welcoming of stimulation. "Please!" commanded Ciel.

Sebastian stroked the boy to a fevered, whimpering climax, fingers thrusting firmly and possessively all the while. As the aftershocks coursed through his exhausted little body, Sebastian purred into his little pink ear, "I am, now and until the day I claim what is mine, my Lord's most faithful dog."


	10. Wardrobe Discipline

Author's Note: For Talon's "shoes" prompt. OT rated, suggestive but nothing overt. A tasty trifle.

Wardrobe Discipline

Ciel threw a boot at Sebastian. Perhaps not directly _at_ Sebastian, but certainly in his direction.

Rarely had it mattered to Ciel precisely what he wore, or so it seemed to Sebastian. There were childish protestations over bootlaces, ribbons, and buttons on nightshirts, but all were simple and easily silenced by a determined and devoted butler. Sebastian knew Ciel also trusted him to choose just the right outfit for every occasion, and the demon always had a damned good argument to back up any choices that Ciel might question. Exactly what the little Earl of Phantomhive should wear to a ball, to the opera, to a banquet, even to meet the Queen herself: the perfect butler who was also the perfect valet knew. Ciel would always look stylish, debonair, and deceptively unthreatening. It was part of the contract as Sebastian interpreted it, and Sebastian enjoyed his young master's innocence of appearance combined with his determined, aggressive personality.

Today, however, Sebastian had apparently gone a little too far. He grinned to himself, in a low deep bow, as Ciel complained loudly that the new boots he had chosen pinched and that the shade of purple offended. Sebastian apologized solemnly and reminded the Earl that he had refused to try anything on when his bootmaker had come to call with new items for him to try on, and had left it to Sebastian to choose which to keep and which to reject. He lamented his misperception of the width of the new footwear, but he could not regret the color. They were vivid and matched perfectly to his favorite violet hat and gloves.

Sebastian could not remove the single boot he had fastened quickly enough, however, as Ciel writhed and kicked him with his bare foot, and then grasped and threw the mate at the wall, just beside Sebastian's head. He seemed to be aiming at the fireplace.

"You did it on purpose," Ciel whined as the boot was at last removed and he could take it roughly from Sebastian's hand and throw it, too, at the far wall. "You enjoy seeing me in pain."

He could not deny the latter, though not in the way Ciel was pretending he meant it. "You have my most humble apologies, young master." He got pleasure from Ciel's obvious streak of masochism, just as Sebastian got pleasure from a similar streak of his own. Ciel needed to complain of mistreatment as Sebastian needed to be stimulated by the boy's everpresent dissatisfaction. Their symbiosis was undeniable, a perfect bond that Sebastian had never dreamt of achieving with any mortal. He would do much to draw it out and bask in its delights.

Neither boot landed in the fireplace proper, for which Sebastian was glad. Ciel did not have a strong arm, but he could have aimed the beautiful little bootlings directly into the fire, had he truly wished to do so. No, it was a display of temper, little more, and they both played their parts. A little stretching and they'd fit, both knew, and Ciel would secretly love the way he looked in them while denying it. Petulance truly was one of his most vivid traits, and Sebastian loved to prod it just as much as he loved fulfilling his contract to the letter. And, of course, he had not ordered the bootmaker to make them too small. Sore feet provided a lovely opportunity for Sebastian to kneel and massage them, but affecting the Earl's delightfully arrogant little gait was far from his thoughts. Ciel must always look and carry himself perfectly; to that the demon known as Sebastian Michaelis was entirely and irrevocably committed. The leather of the boots was just new and the dye had perhaps shrunk them a bit. He would insert a damp rag and press from inside with his hand to stretch them nicely over the next several days. Soon, they'd fit just right, he had no doubt. They'd repeat this scene with a little variation in the result and that would be gratifying, too.

But for now, the butler had a flailing, angry little boy on his hands, a situation requiring its own special accommodation. So thoughts of boot-stretching and contemplation of his connection to Ciel Phantomhive were put away to address more immediate needs. Ciel pounded the arms of his oversized chair and kicked out with his silk-stockinged feet. The kick was more of a push at his shoulder, and Sebastian allowed himself to be rocked back by it. Head still down, hand across his chest, he said softly, "I will endure your expressions of discontent as you see fit to display them, young master, but the ambassador from Spain will arrive in a short time and I should be sure your tea is properly prepared."

Ciel huffed, considering Sebastian's words, weighing, as he must, the pleasures of a tantrum against high tea prepared without his butler's oversight. "It's not fair," he pouted, striking his chair once again.

"No, young master, it's not," Sebastian replied with all due seriousness, for life—and death—were indeed never fair. He rose and brushed the hair from Ciel's eyes. Then he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before the young Earl could react.

"Sebastian!" Ciel snapped, wiping off his face, as if the kiss disgusted him.

Sebastian bowed low and smiled, then rose and turned to fetch another pair of boots from the armoire when he would far rather have indulged them both in far more "disgusting" acts, were the ambassador's visit not imminent.


	11. Instrumental Discipline

**Author's Note**: A little tidbit for my delectable Raffi, who offered the violin lesson prompt. Also posted at the LJ Community Fanfic_Bakeoff for the "yielding" prompt, hence the 300-word limit.

Instrumental Discipline

Ciel sawed a few more notes then withdrew the violin from beneath his chin. "This is torture, Sebastian."

Sebastian placed a gloved fingertip on the page of the slender red book he was reading and said: "At age five, Frederick was banished to his room with only bread and water for two days for failing to memorize his daily Bible verse." He said, with a little smile.

Ciel huffed and replaced the instrument. After making the exact same mistake in the exact same place for a third time, he stopped and said, "I hate this."

Sebastian nodded, recognizing the truth when he heard it. The boy was impatient. Learning to play the violin encouraged patience while making use of his vigorous mind and determined nature. "Little Ann Baker was whipped during spelling lessons to aid her memory," he read aloud.

"You won't whip me," Ciel said, glaring and pointing his bow.

Sebastian smiled and placed his hand on his chest, the volume on Victorian child rearing lying open in his lap. He bowed his head, ever so slightly.

"You won't," repeated Ciel, and raised the violin to begin the dratted Mozart again.

It was true, he wouldn't, though he was quite adept with a horsewhip. An image came of the boy, prancing around a ring, the tail of Sebastian's whip chasing him with delightful cracks and pops, lightly kissing his plump little behind. Sebastian shivered with delight.

Ciel played once again, then made then made precisely the same error a fourth time, and flung the violin. The butler caught it mid-flight, just before it would have struck his face. "Spare the rod, spoil the child," he said, rising and walking to Ciel with a resolute step. No whip, of course, but a good spanking would do wonders for them both.


	12. Voyeuristic Discipline

A/N: So good to get back to writing for this collection. I just adored Chapter 50 of the manga and the return of Snake, which inspired this ficlet and fanart I did for it and posted at my deviantArt account (see profile for link). [For those who don't know him, Snake is one of the members of the Noah's Ark circus troupe and speaks to/through his live, poisonous snakes. He appears, thus far, to be quiet and uncorrupt (unlike the rest of the circus members), a loner who loved the troupe for welcoming him despite being a freak. I get gloriously shy, uke vibes.]

Spoiler: Manga chapter 50.

Summary: The new Phantomhive servant is calling out in his sleep. Might he confess something important?

Voyeuristic Discipline

Ciel stifled a yawn. How he loathed being awakened, but Sebastian had said the new Phantomhive servant was calling out in his sleep for the third night in a row. Who knew what he might confess unknowing? Ciel was cynical. He doubted the creature had anything of importance to share except snakebite. Certainly he did not doubt the young man would attempt to kill him sooner or later, but Sebastian would see that any effort came to nothing.

Hence, he slept easily, despite Sebastian's taunting. "Shall I sleep with you, young master, in case Snake's pets decide to roam the halls?" The idiot. Ciel had commanded him away, resenting the foolishness almost as much as having cheated himself of being tucked into bed properly by those deft, elegant hands.

Now, against his better judgment, he was padding down the narrow hallway of the servants' quarters. He heard strange, hissing murmurs and whimpers amid the more common sounds of servant snoring. He made a small grunt of annoyance, following Sebastian and his candelabra to the room in which Snake was bedded.

"Remain behind me, young master," Sebastian whispered. "I wouldn't like to have you attacked."

Ciel withheld his opinion that Sebastian might like very much indeed to see him bitten, to suffer untold pain and misery, and then to rescue him from the clutches of death (for now) by the miraculous production of an antidote. He did not gratify the monster with a reply.

Sebastian carefully opened the door to Snake's chambers and swung it wide that Ciel might take in the spectacle before him. The pale young man was writhing softly in his bed, atop the blankets, snakes everywhere. Slithering vipers wrapped his arms and legs, lay draped over his torso, pulsed across his throat. And one, small and vibrant yellow-green in the glow of the candles, undulated slowly around the length of his slender, erect cock.

Ciel gasped and turned from the grotesquerie in the bed to Sebastian, who stood, removing his gloves, eyes bright and tongue sliding across his lip. "You woke me for this?" snapped the boy.

Snake's pale green eyes slid slowly open and fixed upon his intruders. The snakes, in concert, shifted their black, beady gaze as well.

"No, young master," answered Sebastian calmly, resting the candelabra upon the nightstand and sitting on the edge of Snake's bed. "I woke you for this." He reached out to let a hand trail down the smooth, bare chest. The snakes writhed toward the approach of his fingertips.

"Mr. Sebastian," Snake hissed, eyes closing again as the tiny snake unwound from his cock to encircle the butler's wrist. Sebastian smoothly took up its task. Snake arched with a moan into his grip.

Damn the pervert, thought Ciel. Snake-charmer was apparently another among his many proficiencies. But whether his anger was directed at the trickery of getting him to witness this display or the hardness of his own little snake beneath his robe he could not with certainty say.


End file.
